by Lundy, W. J.
“Like a medical spook. Sir, this just smells all kind of silly.”
Laughing, the captain nodded his head. “That might be the understatement of the century. Now back to your lieutenant; he’s new, and he’s going to be counting on you.”
Gyles struggled to hold back a smirk that was easily caught by Captain Younger. “Yeah, I spoke to Michaels briefly on the phone this morning after I arrived. FNG is an understatement … is he even old enough to drink?”
Younger scowled. “I’d be lying if I said I’m happy about this. You know you’ll be the one the men look to out there. LT has the platoon, but I’m depending on you. Shit, only half the company has shown up so far, and I don’t know if we’ll see any more. People are scared with the news coming in from overseas. I’m not bullshitting you right now—I need experienced leaders out there.”
Gyles could see the concern in the man’s eyes. “What’s this all about, sir, sending me into the field blind with a green butter bar and some Fed doctor? You sure this is just a routine operation?”
Younger looked left and right then took a step closer. “It’s not just you; it’s all of us. By orders from POTUS, everything has been called up. Rumors are they’ve even floated the balloons and are pulling back all our overseas forces. Everything from Germany to Korea, including the guys in the sandbox. And to top it off, they are ordering all civilian aircraft be grounded until the crisis is over. Just tell me, how do I get my people home on leave when the airlines are all grounded?”
“I didn’t know things were really that bad,” Gyles said, suddenly regretting his vow to unplug from the news over the last week.
Younger laughed and tensed his jaw. “So far, it’s been a classic clusterfuck. Hell, between you and me, I heard rumors that China has gone completely dark, a black hole. No word in or out in the last twenty-four hours.”
“China dark?” Gyles again cursed himself for not listening more to the news on his drive out of the mountains, sticking to music stations and avoiding talk radio. “How the hell does that happen? What about the satellites? We’ve got to know something.”
“Like I said, it’s a clusterfuck. Brigade isn’t happy, either; that’s for damn sure.” Younger pursed his lips and looked up at the approaching junior officer. “Gyles, listen, they’ve tightened the ropes on your loadout. Light ammo and no ordnance. But I’m telling you right now, go with your gut. I don’t care what some doctor says; protect your people. I need them all back here.”
“Sir, what about the rest of the company? The battalion?” Gyles asked.
“D.C.,” Younger said. “The Secretary of Defense wants the city surrounded and cordoned off. Any units not being sent to beef up the borders are going to D.C. We convoy out in a few hours. If you’re back in time, you’ll be rolling with us.”
Gyles looked Younger in the eye. “All that firepower in the Capital is going to piss people off.”
“Already has.” The Captain nodded. “Lots of reports of rioting and attacks against our advanced units.”
Gyles looked down, not knowing how to respond. His people were trained to deal with civilians and had done well in Iraq. But these were Americans; he wasn’t sure how his soldiers would respond.
The captain pointed to the two young men standing by. A uniformed man with no nametapes or patches, just shy of six feet, with shaggy hipster hair and deep-set eyes had moved in and was standing with Lieutenant Michaels. “Well, no time like the present. Let me introduce you to the new blood,” Younger said.
The senior man waved them over, and like eager students, the young officer and the doctor snapped and moved back into the circle. The captain made quick introductions before slapping Gyles on the back. “Bring ’em all home, Sergeant,” he said, walking away and leaving Gyles alone with the new men. As soon as Younger left them, the officer turned and quick-stepped toward the helicopters with the doctor by his side.
Doctor Jeff Howard. Gyles did not know him but had been warned about him in the morning briefing. The man was nothing but eager and ready to prove his worth, even if it meant breaking a few hearts of those in his charge. Gyles had to grin, seeing the man’s brand-new uniform without name tapes and freshly issued gear put together half-assed and backwards. He picked up his pace and walked to the left of the marching men.
He moved alongside Second Lieutenant Michaels, his new platoon leader, and asked, “Sir, you have everything you need?”
The officer looked back at him, nodding. “Sorry to call you in off leave, Sergeant. So, how are my men?”
“Locked, cocked, and ready to rock. Excuse me though, L Tee, but what’s with the holdback on some of the gear? I read the loadout—my grenadiers are dry and no frags. What gives?” Gyles said, not missing the words of ownership the new officer placed on the platoon.
Doctor Howard stopped and turned to face him. “No, Sergeant—not today; none of that is necessary.” The young medical man stepped closer, his eyebrows furled in frustration. “We’ve been over this before. Command thinks—and, quite frankly, I must agree—this is a civilian interaction. There will be no need for any gun play. If there is violence, the state police can handle it. This is an escort mission only.” He grinned and looked Gyles in the eyes. “I understand you have a combat patch on your right sleeve and feel that makes you a decision-maker, but not today, Sergeant. This is not Iraq. There will be no bravado in front of the medical team, got it?”
“Yes, sir.” Gyles smirked and slowly dipped his chin. He looked away from Howard and turned back to Michaels, who’d stayed quiet during the outburst. “Sir, I haven’t exactly been filled in on all of the details yet. But if this mission turns into what they say it could, we’ll need full combat kits, not this augmented, amended shit they issued the men. What the hell is this all about, anyway?”
The officer held up a small, bound notebook. “Same as we last spoke on the phone; nothing’s changed. We’re just babysitters today. I know the threat assessment, and your concerns are noted. Majority opinion is we go in, grab the civilian medical staff, and head back. This isn’t a combat mission.”
Gyles shook his head. “Too easy,” he said, thinking every time he’s been told something is easy, it’s not.
He turned to see the columns of soldiers approaching. Gyles pointed and directed the lieutenant forward, and together they fell in ahead of the pack, slowly moving among the men all armed to the teeth and weighed down with heavy packs. As the soldiers of India Company approached the waiting birds from the rear, Lieutenant Michaels began anxiously shouting last-minute instructions into the wind. With most of the veteran soldiers already wearing hearing protection, the LT’s words literally fell on deaf ears.
Gyles put a hand on his young leader’s shoulder, guiding him to the side near the ramp of the first Chinook as the others boarded. Howard looked back with an anxious expression. Gyles stepped off to the side to allow the marching men to pass by him. “Sir, they got it. We’re ready.”
“Roger that, Sergeant,” the officer shouted back, his head nodding eagerly. “Make sure they all get on board. I’ll be traveling in the second helo.”
“Yes, sir.” Gyles grimaced and watched him turn away, joining the rest of the men and disappearing into the tail end of the second helicopter.
“What’s up with that, Sarnt? The green LT still being a pain in the ass?”
Gyles turned to see his leader of First Squad, Staff Sergeant Eric Weaver, pull in beside him. They had known each other a decade, both having checked in at Stewart together. They were in the same class when they earned their expert infantry badge and in the same company on the last deployment to Iraq. Equally qualified and with similar experiences, it was only by chance that Gyles was selected for promotions before Eric. Even though he technically was superior in rank, Gyles still shared a close bond and friendship with his long-time battle buddy.
“Butter Bar needs to calm down. I’m worried the kid’s going to burn himself out before we even get there,” Gyles grunted.
“Don’t worry, he’ll relax once he busts his cherry; they all do.” Weaver smiled, fishing a can of dip from a pocket on his sleeve. He slapped it against the heel of his palm before opening the can and stuffing a large plug under his lip. “So, what’s really going on?”
Gyles shrugged, dipping his chin to the passing soldiers. “You’ve probably heard as much as me.”
Weaver shook his head. “Don’t mess with me, G-man. I ain’t never heard of the Army sending two hookers filled with grunts to collect a medical team. Even in theater, we were never tasked with errands like this.”
“It’s all this rioting stuff and the illness at the borders making people crazy… got the brass all shook up. Guess these docs up in Virginia are experts or something. They specialize in vaccines.”
“Whatever happened to buying a cat a plane ticket? You really need a private escort from America’s best?” Weaver said.
“It is what it is, bro. Just do me a solid and keep your squad together. If what they’re saying on the news is true, this op could become a lot more than an overpriced Uber lift,” Gyles said. He reached out and put a hand on Weaver’s shoulder then pointed to the squadrons of Black Hawks, prepped and spinning on the flight line. “I feel like we ain’t being told something.”
“Mushrooms, brother, fed full of shit and kept in the dark.” Weaver laughed, moving away.
Gyles glanced up and caught a signal from the crew chief waving him forward. He turned and followed the last of the men onboard the CH-47. He dropped into a webbed seat just as the ramp closed.
The turbines increasing in pitch, the big machines defied gravity and lifted into the air. Gyles pushed back into the jump seat and let his eyes scan the red-lit compartment. His men sat back against the fuselage, packs between their knees and rifles held tight. Some slept while others nervously looked straight ahead. Toward the front, he saw Doctor Howard with maps pulled out over his lap and a green spiral notebook in his hand, feverishly taking notes.
He caught the smug expression of Weaver across from him. Gyles shook his head, waving off the man’s sadistic grin. The helicopter bounced in turbulence and banked to the side. Gyles twisted and looked through a port window to see a full squadron of Black Hawk helicopters escorted by Apache gunships. He flipped his wrist and watched Weaver strain to follow his gaze.
“Da fuck?” Weaver yelled over the engine noise.
The crew chief, a stocky man with silver hair, a thick mustache, and wearing a green jumpsuit, moved closer. He knelt close so they could hear over the roaring of the Chinook. Gyles saw the man’s name, Rose, written in gold letters across a black patch on his chest. “Something big going on in Washington; they got most of the division scrambled.”
Weaver spit into a bottle then looked up. “That’s bullshit. Something’s going down, and once again I’m left out of it. See G-Man, it’s shit like this why I never get promoted. I should be in a Crash Hawk ready to drop into the Capital City, not off playing taxi. I’m a combat-hardened killer, not an overpriced escort.”
Rose squinted and looked down at him. “You’re joking, right? You know what’s going on in Washington?”
Weaver shrugged and looked across to Gyles. “What? You mean the fighting?” Gyles said. “The riots? Screw those punks.”
The crew chief bit at his lower lip. “You boys really don’t know shit, do you?”
“We’ve been locked down on that damn airfield since they put us on alert,” Weaver said. “And Sarge here was jerking off to Sears underwear catalogs, in some mountain cabin up until a few hours ago.”
Rose shook his head; his silver eyebrows bunched up, showing worry. He looked down at them sympathetically. “You need to be glad you’re not on those Black Hawks. From what the Air Cav people are telling me, Washington is straight hell boiled over. Bad stuff going on in that city.”
Gyles looked up at him. “I don’t understand. What is it exactly that the local police can’t handle?”
“What isn’t it?” The crew chief shook his head. “It’s like the entire city has gone mad. Let me give you a word of advice, boys. This outbreak, or whatever it is, has people scared, acting in ways that aren’t normal. Look, I don’t care what they told you or what that kid up there said about this being a simple hop and back,” he said, pointing to Howard. “Ignore that; this is real shit you’re getting into. I am talking weapons at condition one—no bullshit right now. We’re going to set you down good and close to the facility. You all need to get in, get your package, and get your ass back to this helicopter, you understand? This rabies shit, or whatever it is, it ain’t no joke.”
Gyles nodded and watched Rose move away. Then he looked across the aisle to Weaver, who was fighting back a grin. “Guy is a bit of a drama queen, ain’t he?” Weaver chuckled.
Chapter Two
Day of Infection Plus Seven, 0550 Hours
Biologic Institute Laboratory Central Virginia
The pair of Chinooks dropped in elevation and cut a wide arc around the city. Looking out the window, Gyles was shocked to see plumes of black smoke rising from the outskirts. Headlights moved on the highway, but what was most prevalent were the strobes of police lights. The helicopter rocked left then moved north. The crew chief looked over the compartment and threw exaggerated motions of waving five fingers to the soldiers.
“Five minutes,” Gyles yelled, quickly echoed by the rest of the men as they passed the word. He turned his head and looked out the small port window, seeing what he could have sworn were muzzle flashes. Fires, police lights, muzzle flashes… what the hell is going on? He shook his head and pulled at the jacket of the trooper next to him. “Lock and load… pass it down,” he shouted. Gyles reached into his own vest, slapped a magazine into the lower receiver of his rifle, and let the bolt go forward. Screw Howard; they wouldn’t be going in on empty chambers. He did not have to look up to know that Weaver would be doing the same.
He felt Howard’s burning stare and turned his head, making eye contact. The officer showed the palms of his hands. Gyles ignored the expression and shot the doctor a thumbs up. Even though they were issued ammo, Howard was very adamant in explaining this was not a combat operation. In the morning phone call with Michaels, he was told that magazines would stay in their packs; the Fed did not want anyone shooting a toe off, or a negligent discharge destroying property on a civilian interaction. In addition, this was a stateside run, not Iraq. Nobody was going into battle today.
“Somebody’s pissed at you, bro,” Weaver laughed.
“I can take it.” Gyles mockingly made a brushing motion with the glove of his hand across his shoulder. “Let him be butt hurt; something isn’t right down there.”
Weaver nodded. “Rather be judged by twelve than carried by eight.”
“Something like that,” Gyles said.
The Chinook increased in speed and banked hard before flaring. When they pulled a tight turn, Gyles felt the Gs in his chest as it spiraled in for a precision landing. What the hell? Why are they doing a combat landing in a laboratory backyard? He pulled his neck back and watched the gray sky and distant streetlights transform into the lush tree cover and green grass of a large, well-manicured lawn. The rear ramp of the bird began to lower before the aircraft had even touched the ground. The crew chief was on his feet, holding a strap while speaking loudly to the passengers.
Gyles crunched into his seat as the bird recoiled on its landing gear. Then he quickly snapped to his feet and ushered his men past him, watching them rush into the predawn morning. Gyles waited for Howard, and then joined his side. Together, they exited the aircraft, stepping into the cool Virginia morning air.
“You’ve got ten mikes, and then we have to be on the outbound leg; we don’t have fuel to hang out much longer than that,” the chief yelled over the turbines.
Gyles nodded before looking across the landing zone. He could see that the second helicopter had landed over fifty meters to their north. Third and Fourth Squads with Lieute
nant Michaels were already fanning out, forming a wide security perimeter that mirrored the one First and Second Squads were building around their own bird. He walked slowly, following Howard into the center of the circle.
Howard looked down at his watch and referred to his notebook. “Well, where are they? It’s nearly oh-six. They were supposed to meet us on the east lawn.”
Gyles stopped and looked left and right. They were on a long grass field. Behind them to the west were tall, red-brick buildings. Gyles could see the low lights of an empty lobby and, to the front, an empty parking lot. The entire place was cordoned off in tall, black wrought iron fences. In other sections, this fence doubled up with chain link and rolls of concertina wire. Gyles let his eyes wander the perimeter. The security floodlights shone out on empty streets to the south, and, suspiciously, a far-off vehicle gate appeared to be blocked open by an abandoned car.
“Loads of security, but no guards, and the gate’s open,” he said, waving his hand along the fence line. “Something isn’t kosher.”
Howard shrugged. “Not business hours, maybe this is normal for them.”
“What is this place?” Gyles mumbled.
Howard turned to look at him. “This is where they make vaccines for some of the world’s most deadly diseases,” he said in a faint voice. The young man twisted, looking in all directions. “I don’t understand… the lab people were supposed to be waiting for us with a state police escort. Where is everyone?”
A thundering explosion rumbled in the distance, followed by an orange bloom of light filling the southern sky. Gyles pointed. “Maybe something to do with that? I didn’t know the rioting had moved this far from Washington.”
The lieutenant shook off the comment. “Ready a squad. If they aren’t here, we’ll just have to move to them.”
“Sir, are you sure about that? If our orders were to rendezvous here, I think we should wait. Count off the ten minutes. If they miss the pickup… so be it.”
